


My Love Will Burn With Me

by angelwriter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Love (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Marriage (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Episode Related, Forbidden Love, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwriter/pseuds/angelwriter
Summary: "If we can't locate the boy we are doomed and I would have to back to Heaven and you to Hell. We won't see each other anymore.""Right." His voice was clipped.Aziraphale stared moodily into his glass. "I'd miss you."Crowley looked up at him over his dark glasses. "Me too, angel," he whispered. If only Aziraphale knew just how much he meant to him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	My Love Will Burn With Me

Crowley and Aziraphale and what happens after the ending of Episode 1 and the in between of Crowley sneaking out of the bookshop before Gabriel came to visit 

[Rated mature for intimate scene]

***

"Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver in some stagnant lake,  
Your tongue is like a scarlet snake that dances to fantastic tunes,  
Your pulse makes poisonous melodies, and your black throat is like the hole,   
Left by some torch or burning coal..." 

\- Oscar Wilde 

•••

Crowley burnt his tongue on the first sip of coffee. It gave a pleasant sting throughout the day, reminding him of his morning breakfast with Aziraphale. 

He fingered the hem of his grey shirt in a nervous habit that he never let anyone see. He rocked his knee up and down, tension eating at him. He wanted to open his mouth and let all the words out. Mostly questions and all pertaining to Aziraphale and his relationship - what it all meant. He felt incredibly vulnerable. There's heat on his tongue, the pulsing rush of longing and lust, a melody of unspoken love daring to be spoken off his lips. It was undeniable and irresistible. And it was also dangerous. 

They were in the bookshop now discussing the chaos that was losing the Anti-Christ and having him come into his power. Aziraphale drank his scotch with an unhappy purse to his lips. 

"Well," Aziraphale said, "welcome to the End Times." 

Crowley groaned and drowned his entire glass. Aziraphale poured his glass full again. He drank it down quickly. Crowley was planning on getting piss drunk and then collapsing on Aziraphale's couch. He somehow always fell asleep on that couch. Aziraphale would place a blanket over him and in the middle of the night he'd find himself warm from the knitted quilt and saw Aziraphale with a steaming cup of coco reading a novel in his desk chair. These were the little stolen moments that Aziraphale would never know he got. He was peaceful just being silent in his presence pretending like this was their life, happy and content. Together. He could close his eyes and imagine that they lived together. That he was with Aziraphale in that way.

That was selfish wasn't it? He felt guilty now after his plan had failed. He couldn't ask him to let him stay over. He finished half the bottle, hoping to get himself tipsy enough that he could numb the feeling, but then he remembered he would have to expel it and drive home. Aziraphale drank with him. This was their routine. They had become comfortable with their lives on Earth and Aziraphale hated the thought that it would end. His mind tried to think up solutions. He fiddled with his fingers on the glass, his belly filled with bourbon. His mouth was strong with the scent of alcohol and he smacked his lips together. 

"Crowley dear, would you care to stay tonight? We need to figure out a plan forward." 

Crowley swallowed the last bit in his glass. Aziraphale was asking him to stay and even though his head told him it was a bad idea he couldn't deny his angel. 

"Sure. We need to know what to do now." 

"Yes. I am quite distressed as you can see. I am worried that we won't have much time together." 

"What?" Crowley slurred. 

His brain short-circuiting at the thought of what Aziraphale meant. Could mean. Time together. All they had was time. 6000 years to meet up and drink wine, experience human life. The sands of the hourglass were running low and Crowley felt his shoulder tense at the realisation that the place he had grown to love was going to turn into a puddle of goo. 

"If we can't locate the boy we are doomed and I would have to back to Heaven and you to Hell. We won't see each other anymore." 

"Right." His voice was clipped. 

Aziraphale stared moodily into his glass. "I'd miss you." 

Crowley looked up at him over his dark glasses. "Me too, angel," he whispered. If only Aziraphale knew just how much he meant to him. 

"Do you remember Rome?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Of course I do. We had those oysters you suggested." 

"Yes." Aziraphale bit his lip. "And do you remember what happened after?" 

Crowley furrowed his brows. "Uh..." He struggled to recall that far back. Then it hit him. Oh. Oh! Fuck. He swallowed. "That was the first time we kissed." 

"It was just a peck really...but I quite enjoyed it." Crowley nodded slowly. It wasn't just a peck. It was best damn thing he had experienced. Aziraphale went on to say, "and do you remember after we had crepes in 1793?" 

"You would remember that bit!" Crowley laughed. "You remember eleven years ago I paid back the lunch I owed for your uhhh....kind thank you?" 

"Yes. I was in the Bastille. I bought you lunch to say thank you for rescuing me. Things got a bit progressive in our relationship that year. I missed you. And you looked so wonderful in your attire. I had to say thank you properly." 

Crowley smirked, the memory playing back. After Aziraphale had devoured most of the crepes while Crowley downed most of the dessert wine, they went back to Aziraphale's newly formed bookshop. There they began their routine of drinking together amongst all the books. Crowley took a liking to the couch and made it his spot. They went through six bottles in just a few hours when Aziraphale decided he needed to thank Crowley in another way. 

How could Crowley forget the hot wine taste of Aziraphale's mouth? The wet slip of his tongue along his neck? The shiver that passed over his skin as Aziraphale knelt in front of him and started to peel off his stockings? How could he not play and replay the way his back arched as Aziraphale kissed up his spider-leg limbs and how he gasped when he felt himself hit the back of Aziraphale's throat?

He dared not forget the few times he got to touch him over the years. One passionate kiss in Rome, one bloody good blowjob during the Reign of Terror, and the initiate love making of their secret night after the bombing of the church in 1941. Aziraphale had said to forget it. He never meant for it to happen. They had come together almost as if by an external force, two magnets joining as one when Aziraphale had stared at him with that look of a man who was deeply in love. Crowley had sown all of Aziraphale's truthful words that night into him. Let the angel speak it out loud, map it out in kisses for him. He laid there and took it, soaked into his soul. He didn't speak. He didn't ask questions. He let Aziraphale love him and he wouldn't have had it any other way. 

In 1967 that was when Aziraphale made it clear that he had to hold on to those times, that there would be a time when Aziraphale could freely be with him and they could be together like they wanted. He had to wait and he had to slow down.

So he did. 

Aziraphale was just now realising what he had asked him and they were running out time. 

"Angel," Crowley spoke softly, fearful and aching. "What do you want? Anything. I'll give you anything." 

"You know what I want," he said as he met those burnt yellow eyes that was glowing in the sunset filtering in from the open window. 

He didn't know who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing. Crowley sank his shaking hands through the soft cloud-like hair that he had desperately missed the feeling of. He tasted every murmur and moan that Aziraphale made as he swirled his serpentine tongue into the angel's mouth. Aziraphale gripped his lapels so tightly his knuckles turned white as if he was afraid Crowley would vanish before him. It was nearing the close of everything that had ever known and this was what they had to remember. These shared times together. 

The two of them eating every cuisine known to man, drinking their way through every wine in existence. The talks about human life and all the questions Crowley posed, his beautiful ramblings when they visited the British Art Museum together. Their bickering about what was considered good music. Crowley's terribly fast driving that made Aziraphale's belly flop up and down, but excited him just the same. Aziraphale closing his eyes in ecstasy when he ate something he loved. The smell of books and the touch of worn fabric, the focus of flecks of moss green in Aziraphale's eyes when he was upset or the flash of grey when he was happy. 

Every single trace of his skin, the expanse of him, the whole him. Aziraphale warm and real and loving. Crowley felt his skin prickle at the touch of the other being against him. He surged up into him needing to blend into one until there was no end and beginning, not two entities that were said to be light and dark, only one shadow moving together. Each slide of flesh on naked flesh. Their sweat mingling, their spit and dirt mixing. Bodies entwined in a way that angels and demons weren't supposed to. It was the way humans fit together. They came together out of desire. Slotted into the creases and folds of each other's human form. Soaked in their eternal love for humans, for the Earth and for each other. 

How could this be wrong? 

How could this end? 

Something could be said about lovers who fight against every damned thing that kept them apart. Although we don't know what words to use, few had actually experienced the weight of that burden. The sulphur tasting word of star-crossed and forbidden. No. This couldn't be wrong. Not when their shapes were moulded like clay, hands pressing and creating, transforming. There was something so entirely natural about it. 

This flame of passion burned bright and blotted out the light of Heaven, stole warmth and gave it to the coldness of Hell. It was large enough to fill entire oceans and every piece of land there is. It rose up into the skies and bled into the stars outside. It fled into space and into all particles of matter. This was the love of lovers who had the prophecies against them, that were doomed by something out of their control. 

The great thing about all this was that little thing called Free Will. 

You have it. I have it. And we choose. Just like angels and demons do. We choose our love. Our path. Our future. We have that power. We own that gift. 

What do you choose? 

The realest of love stories never get told. They are written in the hearts of those who love and there they remain even after they are gone. 

Aziraphale and Crowley would live forever. And maybe that forever wouldn't be what they expected. They were willing to fight, they were willing to battle (even each other) for what was more precious in this life than anything else. 

It didn't need to be spoken. Only felt. 

They had laid together for hours now. They had stripped themselves down and wore nothing. They traced their bodies with their fingers -- along collarbones, down chests and over thighs. They were face to face on the couch. He kissed him slowly, the slide of their lips making his heart beat faster as he adored the way their lips met. Each time their lips touched his head swarmed with heat and pleasure. When they broke apart it was almost torture, like he couldn't bear to be apart from him. He threaded his hands through his hair, tightening it and pulling slightly. He teased open Aziraphale's mouth and swirled his tongue inside. He moaned at the texture and taste of him. He never wanted to stop. 

Aziraphale let a broken out cry. "I want you, Crowley. I want to feel you. I want to be inside of you again." 

Crowley pulled away, salvia still connecting their lips. "Yes! Please. I want this." 

"Lay down, on your stomach. Here let me get a pillow for you." 

Crowley fumbled on the couch and shifted so he laid flat on his belly, his ass up in the air and a pillow under his stomach to keep him up. 

"That alright? Are you comfortable?" 

"Yes," Crowley answered breathlessly. 

He kissed down Crowley's back and followed the line of his spine. The demon shivered at the intimate kisses. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a bottle of lube was miracled in his hand. 

"Deep breath for me, love," Aziraphale soothed, "I don't want it to hurt." 

He inserted a finger around his entrance, circling there for a moment, then pushed past the outer rim of tight muscle. Crowley moaned at the intrusion, trying to relax into it. He wriggled his hips and settled down against the couch ready for more. Aziraphale thrusted his finger slowly in and out. He added second one when Crowley's body got used to it. 

"You okay?" 

"Yes. It's good. Keep going." 

Aziraphale pressed around, trying to find the little bundle of nerves to make it more pleasurable for Crowley. He probed for bit until Crowley let out a loud gasp. His body flooded with heat as Aziraphale pushed in the place again. 

"Aziraphale....ah!" Crowley hid his head into pillow that his head was on. He mumbled incoherently, babbling really. 

"Good?" He smirked, nailing the spot with precision. 

"Please. I need you inside of me!" 

Aziraphale wasted no more time. He slicked himself up and then slicked a little bit onto his finger and pressed into Crowley again just to lubricate it a bit more. He leaned over Crowley and guided himself inside. The warmth and tightness greeted him and he moaned at the feeling. 

"You feel amazing, my darling," he gasped as he inserted himself all the way in. 

He was panting into Crowley's ear and thrusting gently at first. His pants soon became half cries and bitten off moans as he found his pleasure within Crowley's body. 

"Come in me," Crowley spoke hoarsely, his words spilling out. "Then come in me again. Fill me up until I no longer know what it felt like to be empty, cover me with your body and shield me in your warmth. Spill out everything in me and write poems on my skin with your mouth. Love me until all these broken pieces are put back together." 

Aziraphale quickened his pace and used Crowley's body. He loved the slick sounds of his body moving in and out. The ragged breaths of himself and Crowley. The look on Crowly's face as he fucked him so thoroughly, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes flutteringly beautifully with every jolt. His forehead was shining with a faint gleam of sweat and Aziraphale kissed his wet cheek. He would never get used to this. It was too good. Aziraphale's thrusts faltered as his body crescendos into an orgasm. 

They both shuddered as they released. Aziraphale pulled out and moved so that he laying next to Crowley again. He carded his fingers through Crowley's damp hair. His eyes were still shut and his breathing was slowing down. He kissed Crowley's cheek and pulled him onto his chest, holding him close. They laid like that until morning came. Aziraphale got up early and made them a cup of tea. Crowley dressed himself and slipped on his glasses. He laid back on the couch, crossing his one leg over the other. He drank his tea while Aziraphale opened the windows of the shop and changed the sign from closed to open. Crowley stayed in the back while a few customers browsed through the shelves. 

"Can I help you?" Aziraphale said to the two new costumers. 

They turned around and Aziraphale was surprised to see it was Gabriel and Sandalphon. He worried about Crowley being there and them seeing the demon. He hoped Crowley had sensed the angels and had escaped out the back door. 

"Gabriel, come into my back room." 

When Aziraphale had entered the room there was no sign of Crowley neither on the couch or by his desk. It was safe to assume that Crowley had left in his Bentley and was almost by his flat by now. 

Sandalphon sniffed. "Something smells evil." 

Gabriel sniffed as well and looked around. Aziraphale widened his eyes and quickly thought of something to say. The room smelled of sulphur and Crowley's own unique scent that Aziraphale had gotten accustomed to. 

"That would be the Jeffery Archer books I'm afraid." 

He would have to tell Crowley that they couldn't do this anymore. It was too dangerous. Although it would hurt both of them, it ws for the best. He couldn't lose Crowley to Heaven and Hell. He loved him and would protect him at all cost.


End file.
